


To Show Devotion

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, cultist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: Moira serves her temple well. And their most prized oracle happens to be a broad, well-built madman who's been put into her charge. Suffice it to say she enjoys her work.
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

Sigma had different varieties of quiet. Moira had tracked them extensively over the past months he’d been in her care, cataloguing them quietly as she made a note of each. There was his ‘thinking’ quiet, his ‘seeing’ quiet, his ‘I’m-confused-but-won’t-say-it’ quiet, his ‘I’m-hungry’ quiet, his ‘I’m-tired-but-trying-to-be-polite’ quiet...truly, the man had composed epics of expression with just his silence, and Moira appreciated that about him. He no longer had the pretension to hide his facial expressions, and it amused her to watch the ripples of irritation and fear cross his face. He could look at someone and his unseeing, unmoving stare would make them start babbling to fill the void. It was a skill she attempted to emulate. 

But this, when the two of them were alone, him toying with the basin in his hands or the fabrics she’d given him, this was a comfortable quiet. He did not wait for her now, did not hang on her every word. He didn’t need her as much, and she was proud of that. He was becoming something  _ more.  _

Moira was a priestess: a member of a select group, hand-picked for their abilities and determination in pursuit of their god. The world outside was dark and dull, people living their lives in rote routines, yearning for something more than the cycle of harvest and winter and planting. Moira had reached that, and had earned new responsibilities. And one of those responsibilities was Sigma. Sigma, named for the sigil that had marked his forehead when he’d arrived. A prisoner, a “ward” of the temple, prohibited from removing the bindings over his eyes and gabbling half-sentences about possible futures. For Moira to have custody of someone with true Sight, well, she’d taken the assignment gladly. And then to watch, and listen, as Sigma developed his powers and she grew stronger in her interpretations, was a beautiful thing indeed.

However, Sigma was himself beautiful. He wouldn’t know that, of course, blinded now, but she was confronted with the truth of it every day. He was tall, and broad, often working shirtless so that she could see the muscles rippling under his skin. Yes, he was older than she’d imagined, and hunched from his studies and rigors, but his hands were deft and sure. His voice, too, was rich when he deigned to use it, and his whispers--even his terrified whispers--made her skin stand up with goosebumps. She was privileged to watch him. 

Today, he was trailing his hands through the basin of water, reaching out with his second sight for any possible visions. She did not ask him for details, but his focus was evident. Crossing the room to him, Moira crouched to rest a hand on his shoulder, letting her body press against his side. Sigma would never say anything--he didn’t focus enough for that--but he responded to her, adjusting his position, his attention piqued.

“You’re quiet.”

He nodded mutely, his muscles shifting. “It’s quiet. The song. It’s quiet.”

“I’m sorry.” And she meant it. The few times he’d been able to describe the song, it had been captivating: astounding, in ways she hadn’t imagined. Her faith in the temple was not such an ethereal thing as Sigma’s visions. With her other hand, she reached up to stroke his chin, pleased to feel him shiver. “I’ll do my best to help.”

He nodded again, angling his head to nearly bump hers. His hands had lifted from the basin, dripping with water, but he returned one hand to the water to swirl gently. For her part, Moira lowered her hand again, pressing against his chest to feel the heat of his body before leaning in and moving lower.

Sigma was easily redirected. This was one of his benefits. And even though his hand remained in the basin, the pressure of her hand turned his attention steadily toward her, prompting her to smile and offer a soft kiss to his cheek. He was still bare-chested, but today he’d been clad in a linen kilt, the fabric falling around his waist as he sat cross-legged. Finding the fabric with her hand, Moira leaned against him, gently stroking the inside of his thighs before finding the soft weight of his flaccid penis.

“Let me help.” Moira whispered, nuzzling against his shoulder. Sigma inhaled sharply, his hand still moving within the basin, but Moira merely grinned to herself as the member in her hand pulsed once with ignited interest. True, her role had rarely required this kind of skill, but Sigma had  _ inspired _ it in her with his...responses. Leaning against him, she carefully stroked him through the fabric of his kilt, reaching from the base of his penis to the rounded tip in slow, exploratory movements. Sigma said nothing as she worked, his attention seemingly elsewhere, but Moira was pleased to feel him shift against her, his cock slowly swelling as her ministrations continued.

She wondered if it felt the same for him: that dull ache between the legs, the swirling sensation in the head, the thudding heartbeat. She’d spent long enough exploring that on her own, watching him during the day or imagining him at nights. She, at least, had the advantage of her robes to conceal the worst of her arousal, her nipples peaking beneath the plain fabric of her shift, but she could glance down now and see the evidence of Sigma’s interest with her hand displaying the full length of his growing erection. The weight of him in her hand made her hum softly, her grip tightening to make Sigma tense in response.

He said so little, his silences always communicating for him, but his shuddering now said volumes. Moira could not relent, kissing at his shoulder as she reached up to slide her hand properly beneath his kilt, and there was a moment of adjustment as she loosened the fabric of his kilt before returning to her work with vigor. One of Sigma’s hands rested on the floor behind him, supporting him as he quivered in her grip, and Moira draped her other arm over his shoulder as she quickened her pace. 

His body beside her was solid and warm; his cock in her hand thudded with blood, the first few drops of pre-come slicking her fingers. Beside her, Moira could hear the short, staccato breaths of Sigma’s increasing desperation, the hitches in his breath that predicted a soft whine. Her own eyelids fluttered closed as she tugged at his cock, her grip soft enough to allow her to circle the head before returning to the base. 

She was unsure what prompted her impulses, or what guided her, but Sigma’s moans certainly encouraged her. Lifting herself up, Moira turned to improve her grip, leaning in to kiss now at Sigma’s neck, his collar, facing him as her hand pulled him toward completion. His legs trembled as she rested atop him, hips twisting slightly with the sensation, and Moira cooed to him as he jerked violently in the prelude to his climax.

Now only partially concealed by his kilt, Moira’s hand caught the first pulse of semen as Sigma grunted and groaned. She stilled her movements to coax him through orgasm, gasping softly as he jerked upwards into her grip. Tensed with his back arched, Sigma panted heavily as he tried to refocus himself, finally reaching forward as his tension eased.

“Moira--”

“Shush.” She soothed him gently, using her other hand to smooth his forehead. “I do what I can to assist. Focus now on your work. I can return if you need me.”

“I…” Sigma shook his head, whining softly. “I, I…”

“You do so  _ well _ .” Moira lifted herself up, moving behind him to let Sigma shift forward again. Now with his kilt in disarray, he was hunching forward, reaching for the basin to renew his visions. What would he see, she wondered? Shaking her head, Moira moved to find a way to clean herself up. He would need assistance soon enough: receiving his visions was hard work. And he deserved something different next time. Perhaps she’d find a few more materials before she returned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it was written, so it shall be.

It was dark, and cold, when Moira was roused from sleep. The younger acolytes were still so afraid of her, but her closer confidants had no qualms about waking her in the dead of night, whatever the reason. As they beckoned her to the hallway, Moira tugged on a thicker robe, ignoring the complaints from her feet and knees at the sudden movement so late in the night. In the distance, she could hear the shouts and screams of someone far off, though she was hard-pressed to understand  _ why _ .

“He’s gone up to the roof.”

“How did he--” Moira sighed, rubbing her eyes with weariness. “Is he hurting anyone, up there?”

“Well, no. But he’s  _ screaming _ .”

“By the gods--” Moira groaned, hunching her shoulders as she began walking faster. ‘He’ could only be Sigma, her latest pet project, brought to her from the council at the larger temple and entrusted to her care. The only difficulty was that Sigma did have a tendency to scream. Randomly.

It was a meandering, labyrinthine path up to the roof of the dormitory buildings, and Moira tried not to resent the trip. It would be easy to resent Sigma, for his inconveniences. But he was  _ gifted _ , truly, blessed with sight beyond the physical realm, and he saw things in the stars that they would spend generations deciphering. Never before had she been closer to the divine. And he was the path to that glory.

As she stepped up into the night air, she realized that the noise had subsided, Sigma forced into a shuddering crouch on the center of the flat roof. Near her, the bulky form of the shadowy Reaper remained watching the oracle, his shape difficult to discern in the darkness.

“What did he say.” She asked curtly, pulling up her sleeves. Sigma’s responses seemed so random, still, and she needed as much information as possible.

“He doesn’t say things. He just screams.” Reaper’s voice had been twisted, like his body, by a sadistic gift from the gods, and Moira had to focus to hear his words properly. 

“He says things most of the time. This can’t be that different.”

“They tried to stop him when he started running. And then they summoned me.” Reaper waved an arm, his edges wavering with the movement. “We can only hope he’s not receiving any instructions yet.”

“And if the gods choose to have him act on their commands, would that be so great a difficulty?” Moira snapped, moving past Reaper to approach the other man. Some aspects of her faith could be...troublesome, at times. Reaper was a particularly annoying feature, always wandering the line between ‘cynical’ and ‘derogatory’, but there wasn’t much else he could do about his condition. Moira didn’t have to  _ enjoy _ it: but it was irritating when trying to deal with a crisis.

“Sigma.” She spoke once, just to establish a new precedent, but Sigma jumped into a half-roll, trying to escape. He couldn’t get far, still curled into his ball, but Moira bared her teeth in irritation as she tried to approach a bit closer. Crouching, she reached toward him, her robe pooling around her feet. He was warm, so warm in the night air. 

Belatedly, she wondered if he might be unwell. “Sigma. It’s me.”

Sigma hissed in a breath, forehead nearly touching the roof. “There is so  _ much _ .”

“Yes.” Easier to agree, in the short term. “What do they say?”

Sigma twisted to arch his back suddenly, contorting with unknown stimulus. Moira winced as he screeched again, his fingers curling into painful fists. Moira reached out, gripping his shoulder, waiting until Sigma began to twist again before digging in her fingernails. Long and sharp, they interrupted Sigma’s next phase, and Moira hauled him closer to her before cradling his face with her hands.

“Sigma.”

“They  _ want _ , they want so very very very much, and there is so much  _ hunger _ .” Sigma whined, trapped in her grip. “Like little, tiny, sparkling points of light, they sit there waiting for you and me and they reach out and--and I’m  _ here _ , I’m here, I am a phase of matter and mass about to fade with the merest movement of distant minds! They  _ want _ and they  _ feel _ and I am merely a plaything in their eyesight!”

So standard fare, then. Moira adjusted herself to sit on the ground, glancing over her shoulder to wave Reaper away. “What do they look like?”

“They ask so many  _ questions.”  _ Sigma hissed again, writhing beneath her. “They  _ want _ something and I try, I try I try I try to ask and I try to  _ see _ but I  _ can’t _ , my body won’t let me--”

“Shh.” Moira felt her chest constrict with concern, a fear tightening her ribcage. “Shh, my sweet, it isn’t so bad as all that.”

“We are trapped!” Sigma’s breaths were short and fast now, shallow things that accomplished nothing. His hands were scrambling for purchase, and Moira winced as they connected momentarily with her robes and skirts. “I can  _ see _ and I can’t  _ know _ , I can’t ever  _ know _ , what do they want? What do they want from me?”

“We pray, Sigma.”

“There is no Sigma!” His hands flew to his eyes, to the binding covering his eyes, and Moira gasped as he dug his fingernails into the flesh of his forehead. He did not try to rip or tear, however, simply trembling in the pressure of his own agony. Moira was unsure how long she waited, how long she held her breath in the cold and the darkness, the chill starlight providing the only light for their tableau. However, she eventually raised a hand to stroke his cheek, trailing back into his hair before releasing her held breath.

“The stars are beautiful tonight.” She whispered, reaching to the back of his head to find the knot of his bindings. Moving slowly, rhythmically, imagining the drumbeats of their worship, Moira untied the knot and slid the bindings down to expose Sigma’s eyes, surprised to find them brimming with tears.

“I don’t know.” He whispered back, eyes glittering. Moira bent over him, keeping him resting in her lap, and she traced a fingernail over his lips and chin as she studied his eyes. They were so dark, darker than she’d imagined, but there were oddities in them: not merely reflections of the stars, but new points, dots like freckles marring his irises. His pupils were huge, misshapen things, and she wondered if that affected his regular sight--the way he jumped as she moved the bindings seemed to indicate that it was so, but she couldn’t be sure. 

“Would you like me to tell you a story, Sigma? I know several.” Moira hummed softly, watching his eyes flicker with the unusual sensation. How long had he had the bindings on? How loud were the predictions of their gods?

“No. No, no, I have heard too much.” Sigma shuddered, transfixed by the stars above them. As he slowly relaxed, Moira was grateful for his body heat, tucking herself beneath his warmth to remain seated. She could feel their heartbeats meeting, the gentle pulse of life that tied them together, and she nodded her affirmation as she relaxed with him. 

The universe was terrifying, yes. And to be thrust into it, as Sigma was, without the banal protection of human interaction or the pale depiction of everyday life or the mental barriers of experience. She might not be able to save him entirely--she was not yet sure if she wanted to--but she could help, with this. 

Tomorrow, he would be trapped again. Bound, with the voices of gods echoing in his skull. And she would do her best to...help. That was all she could do.


	3. Chapter 3

The very air was thick, heavy with incense and expectation. Moira could feel the weight of the attention on her, eyes peering through the gloom as she smoothed the fabric over the black stone in front of her. This process was fascinating, in its own way. She lifted a hand to collect the small flask, pouring it into a plain basin, and closed her eyes to inhale deeply of the smoke and scent. To her right, a movement shifted in the shadows, and a faint smile crept over her lips as she recognized the bulk of the man hiding to the side.

“Ah. The augurs seem favorable.” She nodded slowly, the draping of her hood pooling along her shoulders. “We are always reaching for understanding, always seeking  _ more _ .”

Behind her, quiet murmurs from the assembled worshippers filled the space, prompting her to stand and turn to face the assembly. She did not enjoy seeing the men and women of her congregation, but she could feel their attention now, their eager expectation. They came here to be fed, and she was their source. 

“Sigma, come forward.” She paused as the man hesitated, his movements jerky and confused. He was always disappointing when it came to final presentations: but that was why she was here. “Sigma--”

“Yes.” He hummed wildly, stumbling forward to come to her side. His size and his robes clashed with hers, ruining her efforts in cohesion and arrangement, but she reached out to grab his hand and absorb his warmth. She hadn’t prepared him for this, not like she usually would. Oh, usually she would anoint him properly, strip him down and rub him with the oil, knot the belt with each word of binding, slip the charms under his tunic. Now, here, he was off-kilter, and she blamed herself for it. “Yes, M-m-mistress, mistress, ah...augurs?”

“The song, Sigma.” She clarified softly, gripping his hand. “Tell me the song.”

Immediately he shuddered, collapsing in on himself as his mind processed the words. Even with his blindfold, his mind was so quickly overwhelmed: the vision was so  _ much _ . “Red.  _ Red _ , Moira, there is a song of  _ power _ and there are things moving, the smaller, the, ah, the small, winged things, like bats--”

“It is a time for procreation.” Moira proclaimed, looking out again at the assembly. “The world has turned: the sun still burns. Go out into the world, and seed the fertile soil.”

With a hollow ringing, a new sound echoed through the darkened room, and Moira shaded her eyes as a door opened at the end of the room. Turning away, she listened as parishioners got to their feet and shuffled out, emerging from the dark embrace of her temple and out into the grim reality of their lives. She was grateful to not be among them, truly. With a quick, silent prayer of thanks, she bowed to the bowl of liquid still resting on the floor, and tugged Sigma along with her as she descended from the dais and entered a nearby hallway.

“Sigma. Sigma, my darling, I am sorry for the rush. I thought--” She shook her head, slowing so that Sigma could come alongside her. “Well. I did not think. That is the difficulty, isn’t it.”

“Your  _ mind _ .” Sigma hissed, hunching his back. “Like a creeping, teeming thing, always moving never resting--”

“That’s  _ you _ , Sigma.” Moira chided.

“No.” He tried to pull away petulantly, but wouldn’t release her hand, torn between his impulses. “I try to sit and yet there is so much, something prying at my skull, crawling in my blood. It shouts sometimes. You know it, you hear this, you hear me so  _ much _ and yet you grab and you call and you ask for  _ me _ .”

“Yes. Because I still need you.” Moira patted his shoulder gently, turning to face him. He would say so much and yet understand so little… “You did well, all the same.”

“It is nearly like a library, isn’t it, a library of books except all the books have voices and all the minds have ears.” Sigma shrugged his shoulders, barely reacting as Moira reached out to grab his other hand. “They creep and crawl, so many creeping moving things under the earth, searching for us.”

“Mm.” Moira hummed her agreement, backing up so that she was nestled between two deep columns. Sigma barricaded her nicely, shielding her from the last vestiges of light from the main audience chamber. Everyone would be busy in the courtyard, anyway: many chose to leave her alone in the hours following full presentations. 

“And there is light, you know, so much  _ light _ condensed into tiny points and yet full, full and alive and all part of constellations above us.” Sigma moved his hands independently of his words, following Moira’s direction to slip both palms onto the curve of her waist. Even in her robes, Moira felt the weight of those hands, arching her back to press her body against Sigma’s. 

“Sigma.” She purred to him, lifting her hands to his shoulders to feel the warmth of him. It was so easy, somehow, especially when he was still excited from a ‘performance’. “Sigma, you do so well with us. We are so happy we have you here.”

“There have been so many voices, truly, and there are so many eager souls ready for filling, so many bodies ready for the voice, teeming with possibility and aching for direction.” Sigma trembled before her, his hands gripping tight. Moira let her eyelids lower, the heady warmth of his body surrounding her, and she lifted herself higher to press her chest against his.

“Let us focus on a smaller set of bodies, then, and disregard the voice for now.” Sliding one hand between them, Moira unfastened the tie of her outer robe, shimmying to let the fabric fall away and expose more of her upper body. The belt around her waist kept the skirts in place, but she slowly lifted a leg to pull away the fabric there, pressing tightly to the robes concealing Sigma’s form. 

Lifting herself close, Moira pressed her lips to Sigma’s, feeling the first rush of contact as he tilted his head to accommodate her. She had been pleasantly surprised by Sigma’s willingness to kiss her, and it seemed to work relatively well to distract him from his woes. Even now, Sigma’s hands were moving to support her, slipping on the looseness of her robes before finding a better grip against her bare skin.

She was slightly frustrated by Sigma’s robes, trying to slide a hand beneath the large collar of his tunic and leverage herself against his shoulder. However, Sigma hadn’t removed his attention from her lips, pressing her forward to deepen the kiss, and Moira let out a surprised hum as Sigma carefully slid his hands beneath the ledge of her hips and lifted her, exposing more of her legs and leaving a space for him to press between her legs. 

With her hands freer, Moira could now reach up to trace her fingernails over Sigma’s brow and hairline, pulling away to nose along his cheek. As she moved, Sigma whined softly, rolling his hips forward to push her against the wall. Pleased with his effort, Moira pushed back to encourage the movement, using her lifted leg to grip his hips tighter and pull him closer.

Already he could overwhelm her! Moira hummed again with mounting frustration, recognizing now more than ever the  _ yearning _ that seemed to fill her whole body. Was this what it was like for him, to feel pulled in so many directions at once? She rolled her hips against him, twisting in his grip, feeling each movement swirl through her like a mounting fire. Moving her hand from his shoulder, she slid her hand beneath the belt of his tunic, freeing him from the fabric to find the warm weight between his legs. 

She was a woman of simple tastes. A warm place to relax, a good book to study, and an utter  _ wall  _ of a man to hold her up and pin her to the wall.

Returning again to his lips, Moira dragged him into another kiss, shivering as he groaned against her. It took a bit of work, but she managed to pull his tunic aside, pressing her bare chest to his and letting him feel as much of her as possible. 

It did, in the end, have the intended effect: Moira could feel Sigma weakening, his attention distracted by the new possibilities open to him. Moira smiled against his lips, keeping a hand on his shoulder to lift herself higher and grind against his waist. Beneath the curve of her buttocks, she could feel the brush of his cock, prompting her to focus her efforts more on the most sensitive portions of his anatomy. 

“Moira--” He was trying to talk again, pulling away and mumbling against her cheek, but Moira cut him off quickly enough by digging her nails into his skin, squeezing her legs tighter to trap him against her. 

“No.” She directed, kissing his cheek and pausing only to nuzzle at his cheekbone before returning greedily to his lips. No time for him to talk. No time for anything except  _ them _ , that perfect heat between his legs and the growing  _ need _ between hers.

Fortunately, he seemed to get the idea more quickly this time, adjusting the angle of his hips in order to grind more thoroughly against her. It certainly wasn’t perfect, yes, but that was the beautiful part of him. Lifting herself, Moira found that a slow, gentle rise and fall was enough to excite her further, making the nerves in her legs go numb and her spine tingle with anticipation. Had it truly been that long for her? Was she truly so sensitive? Or was it simply the appeal of Sigma himself, the combination of sheer ability and utter helplessness that made her knees weak? Whatever the case, she comforted herself with the fact that it would not be long, and she moaned into Sigma’s mouth as she pushed herself against him.

He was a mess of his own, robes fallen and hanging, but as she gripped him tightly, she could feel and hear the shallow grunts of his breath, trapped between them as he tried to kiss her and explain himself at the same time. Moira wanted to laugh, but as she pulled away, the tension of her legs overcame her, prompting her to arch back against the wall as the force of her orgasm rushed over her. She could feel Sigma’s hands still on her, holding her up, digging into her waist, his thrusts still pushing against her even as her legs clenched tight.

Her head tilted back, her breaths coming sudden and shallow, but she said nothing, keeping her teeth bared as she rode through the rush. The world around her spun, losing reference or meaning, and it took a moment for her to realize that Sigma had followed her fully to the wall, his hips suddenly stilled as he shuddered anew. Their robes had tangled and mingled, their sweat plastered on each other’s bodies, but Moira scrambled to pull him closer to prevent him from moving or speaking again. Let him just stay a moment longer. 

Time had slipped away from her, losing meaning in this dark and warm embrace. Cautiously, Moira lowered a leg to the ground again to hold herself up, tightening her grip on Sigma’s shoulders as he pressed his lips against the curve of her neck. As she moved, she belatedly realized that the sensation along her thighs must be the result of Sigma’s own orgasm, so well-timed with her own. Somehow, this thought was incredibly arousing to her, making her skin flush anew and her throat whine softly with a muted moan, and she kissed the curve of Sigma’s ear as she finally regained her senses.

“What a strong man.” She murmured softly, tugging at her robe to cover her shoulders again. “Big and strong and eager, so eager--you are perfection, my darling, never forget that.”

“ _ Moira _ .” His whine was desperate and raw, still suffused with arousal, and he hunched lower as she leveraged them away from the wall. Lifting his robes now, Moira arranged them as best as she could while he remained pressed against her, and cooed softly as she smoothed back his disheveled hair. Finally they were standing, Sigma bent over to press his face to her neck, and Moira tidied his belt before reaching for his hand. It was a slow, deliberate movement, but Sigma allowed himself to be led, trembling as Moira guided his hand to her breast and squeezed once.

“I--I--”

“Next time, perhaps. Next time we can take a bit longer to play, hm? I think you’d like that.” Moira grinned to feel Sigma’s confused agreement, his trembling acquiescence. “Now. You have had a busy day. Let me take you to the baths, and then you can have your rest. You have done  _ splendidly _ , Sigma, do not forget that.”

“Baths. Yes.” Sigma shook his head as he backed away, distractable once more even as Moira tugged their robes into order and contented herself with the result. “Yes, I...there is no one here, right now? It is so quiet.”

Moira nodded to herself, reaching out to take his hand again and lead him forward. Beneath her own robes, the result of their lovemaking remained against her skin, cooling now, but she focused more on the pressure of his hand in hers. Let her have him; let him have this quiet, if only for a while. The gods would understand. 


End file.
